


Three of Hearts

by quartile



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Christmas, Collegestuck, Crushes, Drinking, F/M, Holidays, Infatuation, M/M, New Year's Eve, Winter Break, mild drug use, the davekat can't happen yet, you'll understand why
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:33:59
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quartile/pseuds/quartile
Summary: “Karkat? I’m Roxy. That’s my baby brother Dave.” She unlocks the tailgate and the student wedges his duffel among your bags. “So, like I said, we can totes drop you at the gas station at New Cantown. You’re good from there, right?”“My brother’s supposed to meet me there. But who even knows with him.” He slides into the back seat. “Thanks for the lift.”In which a good deed leads to complications.





	1. A Passenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Roxy makes a detour on the way home from college for winter break, and Dave encounters the guy he's vaguely crushing on but plays it cool.

“Rox. You’re losing your edge. College Road is back that way.”

“Pfft, I know that,” says your big sister. “You sit tight while we do some good.” She steers her station wagon up the driveway to the west campus dorms. Students are hugging each other goodbye as they disperse for winter break. Sitting on the curb, apart from the crowd, a black-haired student in a leather jacket and gray plaid scarf scowls at his phone. Roxy honks the horn. He looks up, then stands and grabs the small duffel bag at his feet.

“Karkat? I’m Roxy. That’s my baby brother Dave.” She unlocks the tailgate and the guy wedges his duffel among your bags. “So, like I said, we can totes drop you at the gas station at Moo Cow Town – ha, that never gets old. New Cantown. You’re good from there, right?”

“My brother’s supposed to meet me there. But who even knows with him. Can’t shut him up in person, can’t get him to answer a simple text to save your life.” The student slides into the back seat. “Thanks for the lift.”

“No prob. Let’s blow this joint.” She turns up the radio and eases the car toward the road.

You twist in your seat, pointing your open bag of Spicy Nacho Doritos at your passenger. “Breakfast of champions,” you offer.

He cringes. He’s unwinding a rolled-up pair of earbuds. “How can you eat those? They’re an affront to the corn plant, to say nothing of your digestive system. And it’s barely nine in the morning.”

You take one perfect triangle out of the bag and crunch it, not breaking eye contact. He sneers and goes back to his phone.

Roxy tunes the radio to an oldies station. “Rhinestone Cowboy” trickles from the speakers and she sings along. This soundtrack might be more than you can cope with, even ironically. “What’s with the moldy oldies?” you ask.

“Zazzerpan runs best on 1970s soft rock,” she says. “Gotta keep him movin’.”

“Zazzerpan is the car,” you explain to Karkat.

He rolls his eyes. “Unless there’s more mandatory gibberish I’m expected to absorb, excuse me while I zone out.”

“You do you,” says Roxy. Glen Campbell segues into Abba. Roxy belts out “Fernando” as you and your passenger choose separate windows to stare out of, earbuds well ensconced.

\--

You must have fallen asleep, because the next thing you know, the car has stopped and Roxy is poking you in the arm. “Rest stop, seat swap. Wakey wakey.” She hops out of the car to fill the tank. You stretch as best you can, glancing into the back seat. Karkat has dozed off against the door. He looks familiar. Long lashes, thick brows, broad mouth, lips slightly parted in sleep. Not that you’re staring. You tell Roxy you’re going to check out the mini-mart and she gives you a few bucks for her Twizzlers and chocolate milk. 

As you bring your selections to the register (juice, Roxy’s snacks, a copy of _Gracious Living_ magazine for the lulz), Karkat comes up beside you. He sets his banana and coffee next to your stuff and hands the cashier a $20. “It’s on me,” he says. “For helping me out.”

“Wasn’t my idea, but why not, I’ll take credit.” Something is jostled free in your memory. “I’ve seen you somewhere. Aren’t you in the theater program?”

He looks a little embarrassed. “Not officially. My friends got me to audition for _Rosencrantz and Guildenstern Are Dead_ this semester. I got suckered into playing Hamlet.”

Yup. That was him. “I think I saw that. You were pretty good.” You know you saw it. No shit, you couldn’t take your eyes off of him. He’d stalked upstage, miming the “to be or not to be” soliloquy while the title characters philosophized and dithered in the foreground. A turmoil of emotions, expressed without a sound. You’d seen the show with friends, then went alone the next night just to watch him again.

“Thanks.” He pockets his change and you walk back to the car. Roxy tosses you the keys and curls up in the front passenger seat, tucking her sweatshirt around her legs like a blanket. Karkat buckles in behind you. You kill the radio and bring up a club music playlist on your phone.

Eventually Roxy nods off, snoring softly. Karkat taps your shoulder. “How much longer to New Cantown?”

You look up at the highway signs, calculating in your head. “Not long. Half an hour at most. Not a regular trip for you, huh.”

“I hardly know the place.” He slumps back and sighs. “My dad and my brother just moved there. It’s not home. Not for me, anyway.”

“Why’d they move?” You watch brake lights blink on and off among the cars ahead of you.

“Involuntary downsizing,” he says. You can hear resignation in his tone. “Our landlord sold the house I grew up in. The new owners wanted to move in, not rent out.”

“That sucks,” you say. 

“That’s life,” he says. “I don’t even have my own room there. Ten days sleeping on the sofa. Yaaaay.”

An idea crosses your mind. “Will you have wheels while you’re there?”

You can practically hear the word “idiot” in the brief pause before he answers you. “If I had a car, I wouldn’t have had to post on the rideshare board. Besides, I’m not so desperate for my own space that I’m going to camp out in a car all week.”

“No, dude. I’m thinking... I mean, if you need a break... if you’re climbing the walls, or there’s not enough booze in your eggnog, or you’re watching the Grinch for the sixth time or something, we could hang. Like, Rox and I are meeting up with friends on Friday night. You could come. Have a beer. Shoot some pool.” Just bros, hanging out. You wonder what he’s like when he’s not pissed off. You think of how mellow he looked, sleeping in the back seat. Right now, he’s all bristle and rasp.

“I’d have to borrow my dad’s car, I guess.” He looks at his phone and starts tapping out a text. Whatever. At least you put it out there.

Signs for New Cantown begin to crop up. You shift to the exit lane. At the gas station, you roll into a parking spot and put on the hand brake. Karkat cranes his neck, frowning at what he sees, or doesn’t see. “Hang on,” he says. He sends another text, and after a couple of minutes his phone chirps. He reads the message and explodes, “You have got to be fucking kidding me.”

“That doesn’t sound good.”

“My stupid taintsniffing brother got the date wrong. He thought I was coming tomorrow. He’s, like, over an hour away.” He shoves open the car door and stomps around to the back.

You lower the window. “Whoa, take it easy, what are you doing?” you call after him. 

He glares at you. “Getting my bag, cooling my heels, maybe running laps around the parking lot for my health. What else would I be doing?” He knocks on the tailgate. “Can you unlock this?”

“Just give me the address. We’ll get you there.” You nudge Roxy, who stirs in her seat now that the car’s no longer in motion. “Hey, Rox. Side quest.”

“I’m game,” she says, yawning. “Need the little girls’ room first.” She heads into the gas station for the restroom key.

Karkat says, “I get that you’re trying to do me a solid, but I don’t know why you’d bother.”

You shrug. “You wouldn’t deny me my last chance to get off the naughty list before Santa shows up, would you?”

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to go out of your way. You probably have better things to do.”

“Nah, bro, I’ve got nothing but time.” He looks dubious. You jerk your head toward the passenger door. “Come on, it’s cold out there, get in.”

Roxy returns and tells Karkat to sit up front so he can navigate. After 20 minutes down roads that take you in and out of a modest town center, you pull up in front of a recently constructed apartment building, all blocks and cylinders.

“Thank you for riding with Zazzerpan,” you say. “Welcome home.” You pop the tailgate latch. Karkat doesn’t get out immediately, but sits for a moment looking at the building. Then he heaves a sigh, opens the door, and walks back to grab his duffel bag. 

“Thanks, Roxy,” he says as she moves up to the front seat. “Not sure what I’d have done if you hadn’t answered my post.”

“Aw, no biggie, hon!” Roxy catches him off guard with one of her trademark bear hugs. “Just glad we could help.”

“Okay. Well, let me know if I can ever return the favor. Dave, thanks again for the detour,” he adds, turning toward you.

“No sweat,” you say. “See you around.” You reach a fist through the open window and he bumps it after a moment’s hesitation. Then he shoulders his bag, waves at Roxy who grins and blows him a kiss, and walks away. 

“Good deed, done. Go team!” Roxy high-fives you. “I’ll tell Rose we’re gonna be a teeny bit tardy.”

You swing the car around. “I wonder how he’s getting back to campus after break.” 

“We left it open,” she says, tearing into her Twizzlers. “I told him he can text me if his ride falls through.” You can tell she’s side-eyeing you. “You worried about him?”

“What? No. He just seemed down, like he could use a friend. Can’t a guy show some concern for another human being?”

“Natch,” says Roxy. “I’m all about the kindness, yo. Good will toward men and ‘tis the season and shit. But when the guy in question is that cute—”

“To you, maybe.” You have to hit the brakes hard so as not to miss your next turn.

“Um, hello? To anyone with eyes. Take your frickin’ Ray-Bans off, you’re missing what’s right under your nose.” 

In response, you crank up her oldies station, and in a moment she’s singing along to “Copacabana.” Distraction, deployed. You make your way to the highway. You definitely don’t think about anyone’s broad mouth or downcast gray eyes.

Five or six songs later, you’re cruising toward Derseville when Roxy’s phone beeps. She takes a look and says, “Looks like you’re gonna be able to check in on him yourself.”

Your face flushes. “What are you talking about?” 

“Karkat just asked me for your number.”


	2. A Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Gosh, I sure wish Dave was here,” Jade says sarcastically, chalking her cue stick. “Are you expecting someone? You’ve been watching the door since we got here.”
> 
> “Do you mind not interrogating me right now? It’s unsportsmanlike.” You focus on your shot, but you already feel your concentration wavering.

“Earth to Dave. You’re up.”

“Sorry,” you say, bringing your attention back to the pool table. Jade challenged you to the game as soon as you arrived at the bar, and so far she’s sunk five solids to your two stripes. You’ve got some catching up to do. You walk around the table, considering angles.

“Anyway. I’m thinking I need to make one more grocery run. Do people really eat at New Year’s parties, though, or just graze? Maybe I need to hit the liquor store again,” Jade muses. “More beer and wine. Maybe something for mixed drinks. What do you think?”

“Mm hmm,” you say absently. Several people enter the bar. Nobody you know.

“Gosh, I sure wish Dave was here,” Jade says sarcastically, chalking her cue stick. “Are you expecting someone? You’ve been watching the door since we got here.”

You line up a shot, striking the cue ball to sink one of your stripes. “Just someone from school,” you say.

“Uh huh,” says Jade. She’s been many things to you since you met in high school, most recently one of your most loyal friends, and you know very well she’s not above distracting you from a clean shot. “Must be a big deal if you’re clamming up like this. Spill it. Someone you’re dating? Is she hot?”

“They’re just a friend. We were texting about meeting up tonight. They said they’d try to come by.”

“Dave.”

“Hang on, let me line this up.” There’s the eight-ball, right in your path. Easy does it. You might bump it, but you’re pretty sure you won’t drop it. You guide the cue stick with your bent finger, practicing before you make contact.

“Dave. You’re playing pronouns.” 

“Do you mind not interrogating me right now? It’s unsportsmanlike.” You focus on your shot, but you already feel your concentration wavering.

“Whoa. Where’s the ironic riff?” says Jade. “Isn’t this where you tell me the editors of _Sports Illustrated_ are on their way here to throw a flag on the play like I’m out of bounds? Or you whip out a rule book and point out all the ways that asking a close friend about his love life is against regulations?” She puts her hand on your back and you jump. “Who’s this cat that’s got your tongue?” 

“Damn it, Jade.” Your hand slips and the cue stick strikes the ball sideways, putting a topspin on it that curves it right into one of her solids instead of the stripe you’d aimed for. The solid rebounds off the side and bumps the eight-ball straight into the side pocket. Fouled.

Jade smirks. “Ready to forfeit?”

“You’re not as sweet as you look, Harley, you know that?”

“Don’t be a sore loser, it’s unsportsmanlike.” She stands on tiptoe to kiss your cheek, then pats your arm consolingly. “Best of three?”

A cold draft makes you look toward the door again. A small group has entered the bar, accompanied by a few snowflakes. A smartly-dressed woman with jet-black hair, a guy in two-tone glasses and a Prospitia U. sweatshirt, and Karkat in his leather jacket and a knit cap. Something thrums in your chest like a bass string when you see him. You stay where you are, watching Karkat scan the room until his eyes meet yours, then you lift your chin in the barest sign of acknowledgment. He turns to say something to his friends and they make their way to your pool table.

“Hey, man, you made it. Good to see you. Jade, this is Karkat. Karkat, my friend Jade.”

Karkat says, “Sorry we’re late. Crazy traffic. This is Kanaya and Sol. Guys, this is Dave, my chauffeur.” Jade quirks an eyebrow at you, which you choose to ignore. “Where’s Roxy?”

“She had some last-minute shopping to do,” you say. “She says hi.”

Sol pulls his sweatshirt off. His T-shirt says, “I’m here because you broke something.” He says, “I told KK to take the side roads, but he opted for the mall road. Who could have anticipated that there would be so many people out shopping on December 23rd?” He rolls his eyes. “I’ll get this round. Who needs what?”

Kanaya says, “Jack and ginger, Sollux, thank you.” Karkat asks for water. Jade says, “I’m all set, thanks,” and you point to your half-full beer. 

“How’s life in Moo Cow Town?” you say to Karkat.

“It’s all I ever dreamed of, yet so much less,” he says. “All the awkwardness of being a guest in someone else’s home, with the added charm of constantly being asked where I’m going and when I’ll be back.” He tugs off his cap. Static cling sends his hair flying in five directions. It’s fucking adorable. You’re itching to smooth that shit down for him. Instead, you strip the label off your beer bottle while Kanaya finger-combs Karkat’s hair back into place.

Kanaya looks over the pool table. “Someone fouled, looks like.”

“No way. New rules. You gotta start by sinking the eight-ball,” you say. “I totally won that round. Wanna play?” By the time Sol returns with drinks, you and Karkat are getting your asses handed to you by Jade and Kanaya. You step out and let Sol rotate in, but the damage is already done. The girls sink ball after ball, clearing the table and high-fiving with every successful shot.

“That was pathetic,” says Karkat as your group relocates to a booth near the bar. You check to see who needs a refill, then flag down a server and get some onion rings for the table. Karkat tacks on an order of hummus and veggie sticks. 

The music in the bar is loud, but it can’t drown out Karkat’s gritty bray. He’s opinionated about everything: politics (“if you’re not enraged, you’re not paying attention”), student loans (“the opposite of ‘starting on third base’—you’re far behind before you even begin”), even the economics of gift-giving (“if you don’t count the value of the emotional exchange and the strengthening of the relationship—and I’m not saying that doesn’t count, it’s essential—it’s arguably a net loss for all parties”). He passes his veggies and hummus around and you take a carrot stick, which you roll like a pencil between your fingers and thumb, watching him talk.

Jade jabs you in the side with an elbow and you yelp. “Ground control to Major Dave,” she says. “We’re detecting an uncharacteristic lack of transmissions. You planning to join the conversation any time soon?”

With a jolt, you realize that everyone at the table is looking your way. Karkat is looking at you with a puzzled expression. _Did he see you watching him?_ Panic grips your throat. You slide out of the booth and grab your hoodie. “Gonna get some air.” You squeeze through the crowd and push your way out, into the winter night.

A few minutes later, Jade joins you where you’re resting your forehead against a brick wall. “Hi,” she says. “I didn’t mean to make you self-conscious. Are you okay?”

You knock your head against the wall a couple of times. “Jeez, cut that out,” says Jade, pulling on your sleeve. “Brick wall. Do not apply directly to forehead.”

“Why do I do this?” You look at your palms as if they could explain you to yourself, if only you knew how to read them. “I don’t know why I invited him. I don’t even know if he’d be into me.”

“I could ask him,” she says.

“Fuck no, abort, abort, do not ask him that,” you say. “If our friendship means anything to you—just don’t.”

“But it’s an important data point,” she insists. Trust Jade to make everything into a scientific experiment. “Look, this is simple. I go in. I ask, ‘Do you like my friend?’ He goes, ‘That lanky douche? No fucking way.’” 

You laugh despite yourself. Her impression of Karkat’s growl is spot on. “Thanks, you really know how to boost a guy’s confidence.”

“I come out and tell you so, and you drive off into the night, and you get to live the rest of your life. You don’t even have to be rejected to your face.”

“Or I could cut to the ‘drive off into the night’ part right now.”

She touches your arm. “Or there’s the other possibility. The one where he—”

Jade doesn’t get to finish her thought, because the door swings open and Karkat and his friends come out. “There you are,” he says. “It’s later than we realized, and I’ve got to get these two home.”

Jade steps in front of Karkat. “Wait, can I ask you something?”

“Jade,” you groan, wishing you could shapeshift into the bricks.

But what she says is, “I’m having a New Year’s Eve party if you guys want to come.”


	3. A Meet-Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Roxy squishes next to you in the big armchair you commandeered. When you take out your earbuds, she says, “Guess what? Carpool Karkat just texted me. We’re talking about meeting up in Prospitia Center sometime this week. You in?”
> 
> He’s already making it happen. He just grabbed the ball and ran. Cool. “I guess I could find room in my schedule for that.”

turntechGodhead started pestering carcinoGeneticist at 00:23

TG: hey  
TG: just wanted to say merry christmas  
TG: or happy hanukkah  
TG: or have a nice day   
TG: whichever you prefer  
TG: ...   
TG: youre prob asleep

carcinoGeneticist started pestering turntechGodhead at 01:12 

CG: HEY. MERRY CHRISTMAS TO YOU TOO.   
TG: oh youre up  
TG: yeah happy birth of a mystical figure who might or might not have existed  
TG: can we know for sure  
TG: like if he came back and was all  
TG: i am the messiah  
TG: sir were going to need to see some identification  
TG: theres a pond over there if you can just take a few steps across  
TG: also who is your beautician you look amazing for your age  
CG: ...   
TG: sorry my friends say i ramble  
CG: I FIGURED I'D WANDERED INTO SOME EXPERIMENTAL PERFORMANCE ART PIECE.   
TG: yeah p much  
TG: so how come youre awake   
TG: listening for the pitter patter of reindeer hooves  
CG: WE WENT TO MIDNIGHT MASS.   
CG: FAMILY TRADITION.   
TG: oh ok  
TG: didnt mean to dis jesus  
TG: anyway friday night was fun  
TG: if you want to hang out again lmk  
CG: COULD BE.   
TG: im down for whatever  
TG: cartoons thrillers obscure serbian documentaries  
TG: shopping for half price wrapping paper  
TG: misdirecting customers in mile long return lines  
CG: WE COULD MEET IN PROSPITIA CENTER.   
CG: THERE’S AN ARCADE NEAR THE PROSPITIA CAMPUS.   
TG: that could work too  
CG: OK. I NEED TO SLEEP. SEE YOU.   
TG: later bro  
TG: hope santas good to you today  
CG: IF IT'S NOT AFTERSHAVE OR A CAN OF BEER NUTS, IT'LL BE A GOOD DAY.   
TG: fuck dont say that  
TG: there goes my surprise gift  
TG: i scoured that drugstore for seven whole minutes for you  
CG: HA.   
CG: OK. LATER.   
TG: later

\--

After the brunch and the tree and the presents, after the mid-afternoon naps and the late afternoon grazing and the rewatching of _A Christmas Story,_ Roxy squishes next to you in the big armchair you commandeered. When you take out your earbuds, she says, “Guess what? Carpool Karkat just texted me. We’re talking about meeting up in Prospitia Center sometime this week. You in?”

He’s already making it happen. He just grabbed the ball and ran. Cool. “I guess I could find room in my schedule for that.”

\--

That’s why, three days after Christmas, you, your sister, and Karkat are walking arm in arm in arm through Prospitia Center. Roxy’s got her left arm linked in yours and her right arm linked in Karkat’s, making it all but impossible for the post-Christmas shoppers to squeeze by you on the sidewalk. She’s wearing Karkat’s thick leather gloves, which he loaned her after she realized she’d left hers in the pocket of her other coat. Karkat’s other hand is shoved in his pocket. 

“Did anyone bring quarters for the arcade?” says Roxy.

“Don’t need them. We can buy a bucket of tokens there,” Karkat says. 

“You sure?” she says. “I’ll run to the bank and get some, in case.”

“Go ahead,” you say. She darts across the busy street. 

Karkat watches her go. “She still has my gloves,” he says. “She doesn’t need them at the bank. And I’m freezing. Is she always so...”

“Spontaneous? Enthusiastic?” you offer.

“Persuasive,” he says. 

You’re right outside a coffee shop. You tilt your head toward the door, and Karkat nods. Soon you’re in line contemplating brews, baked goods, and other ways to stay warm.

“Roxy has a weird kind of luck,” you explain. “Anything she needs – gloves, textbooks, puppy cuddles – it’s like she just asks and it shows up out of thin air. Like, she waves her hand and shazam.”

“Puppy cuddles,” repeats Karkat blankly.

“Puppy cuddles. This one time we’re walking through campus and she goes, ‘I should become a dog walker. I could use some puppy cuddles right about now.’ We turn a corner and bam, there’s a meetup of the Dachshund Appreciation Society or something. Eight or nine little wiener dogs on leashes. She had to stop and pet every one of them. Made us late, but she was so excited.”

“Pretty cool,” says Karkat. “Whoever she’s dating must have their hands full with her.”

“I guess? I don’t know where she’s at. She kind of just does her thing. She and a friend of mine were hanging out over the summer, but she hasn’t said anything about it lately.”

“Huh,” says Karkat. He orders a small black coffee. “Think you guys are going to Jade’s New Year’s party?”

“Wouldn’t be a new year without it,” you say. “Always a good turnout. I usually help Jade out with the music. You should come.”

You treat him to his coffee (“I owe you, man, you got the last one”), paying for it along with your dark roast and a latte with a hazelnut shot for Roxy. He picks up something from a basket on the counter and pays for it separately. When you step back into the end-of-December chill, Roxy’s just coming back across the street.

"You took off with my gloves, you sticky-fingered filcher,” Karkat says to her. “Can’t take my eyes off you for a moment.”

“Aw, go easy on me, officer, I didn’t know the glove meter ran out, I’d have thrown in a couple more coins.” Roxy hip-checks him. You hand her her hazelnut latte and she beams. “Such a gent. Thanks, Davey. So, which of you is gonna beat me at Ms. Pac-Man?” She grabs your hand and drags you in the direction of the arcade. You glance back at Karkat, who just shakes his head and hustles to keep up.

The arcade is dark, loud with the pings and bleeps of countless machines. Roxy’s a fiend at Ms. Pac-Man. You watch her chase ghosts and chomp dots for a while, then wander toward the skee-ball section to work on your technique. Ha, no. All you know how to do is lob the balls up the ramp and hope for the best.

Karkat appears as your machine spits out chains of prize tickets. “She’s still on her first game. Unbelievable. It’s been 20 minutes, easily.” He drops a few coins in the machine next to yours and tries to beat your score.

“You going to stick with theater? You were good,” you say.

His first few rolls end up in the 10-point gutter. “I might. Depends on what they want to do this semester. If there’s a small part I can handle, I’ll think about it. What about you?”

“Me?” you say. “Nah. I hate the way the floodlights wash out my complexion.”

“They have stage makeup for that,” observes Karkat as he sends another ball up the ramp. “Hey, 20 points, not bad.”

“Slippery slope. Next you’ll have me in drag in a kick line,” you quip.

Karkat makes a face. “What, too femme for you? Maybe step out of the bro zone and join us in the 21st century sometime.” He tries to replicate his 20-point roll. “Anyway, you don’t have to be on stage. They always need help backstage too. Lighting, sound...”

“I could do sound,” you say.

“Okay. There’s usually a meeting for newcomers at the start of the semester. Go to that and tell the organizers you want to be on tech.” He tears off his prize tickets. “Let’s go see if Ms. Pac-Man is ready for a break.”

You find Roxy near the two-person shooters and racing games. Karkat agrees to go head-to-head with her, and you hang back and watch. She’s better at keeping her racecar on the track, but Karkat makes up for it with an impressive outlay of trash talk that has her laughing.

“Drive it or junk it!” she yelps, handily overtaking Karkat’s racecar and gliding past the checkered flag. 

“You haven’t seen the last of me, Roxy Lalonde,” says Karkat, shaking his fist like a cartoon villain. She beeps his nose with her fingertip, and he blinks and tilts his head. 

Your phone buzzes and you check the screen. “Rox, we should get going. Dirk’s finally home and Rose says she’s making lasagna.”

“Woot, Dirky’s home!” she exclaims. “Dude, I freakin’ love this time of year.” 

You walk Karkat back to the lot where he parked his dad’s car. Roxy gives Karkat a hug, then straightens his scarf playfully. “Thanks for coming out to play,” she says. “We’ll see you at Jade’s for New Year’s, right?”

“Yeah, it sounds great,” he says. “Here, this is for you. Not that you need any more energy.” He reaches into his coat pocket and hands her a cellophane bag of chocolate-coated espresso beans.

“Sweet! How did you know I love these?” Her beaming face nearly outshines the parking lot lights. 

“Karkat, bro,” you say. This time when you fist-bump him, he’s ready for you. “See you New Year’s.”

“See you then, man,” he says. 

On your way back to Roxy’s car, you notice she’s still wearing his leather gloves. You point this out to her and she just laughs.


	4. A Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Karkat looks around the room at Jade's New Year's party. “I think it’s going to be a good year.”
> 
> You say, “I don’t know, bro. You see one year, you’ve seen them all.”
> 
> “That’s either the most profound thing I’ve ever heard or the dumbest,” he says, heading toward the back door.
> 
> “Why can’t it be motherfuckin’ both things?” you say lightly.

Karkat comes to talk to you in Jade’s living room – not an easy feat in her loud, crowded house tonight. He squeezes between groups of partiers, making his way toward your spot where you’re cuing up the next set. He grips your hand warmly and you clap him on the shoulder.

“Happy new year, man,” he says.

“Hey, you too. You having a good time?”

“Sure. Nice scene.” He’s drinking something foamy and hoppy from a red Solo cup.

“Told you,” you say. “The secret is having the right music. That’s the special sauce. Nobody spins tunes like D-Stride.” You deftly segue one track into the next. “You hear that transition? Flawless.”

“Please. Your music sucks. It all sounds the same. Too much auto-tune.” But he’s got a glint in his eye when he says it. You get the feeling you’re being negged.

“Guess you’ve never been personally selected to get a crowd into a party mood,” you retort.

“True that,” he agrees, to your surprise. “Helping drunken assholes hook up on the dance floor... not my strong suit.” He finishes his drink. “Did Roxy come with you?”

“Sure. I did a whole _Saturday Night Fever_ set earlier so she could show off her rocking disco moves. She was taking a breather on the back porch, last I saw her.”

“Cool. I’m gonna go say hi.” He looks around the room and adds, “I think it’s going to be a good year.”

You say, “I don’t know, bro. You see one year, you’ve seen them all.”

“That’s either the most profound thing I’ve ever heard or the dumbest,” he says, heading toward the back door.

“Why can’t it be motherfuckin’ both things?” you say lightly.

\--

You don’t see him for a while after that. A little after 11pm, you set your music up to play a 20-minute set without you, so you can hit the head and get a refill on your drink.

Jade’s at the drinks station, a card table with a picnic tablecloth on top, pouring fresh ice into the ice bucket. “Davey,” she says. “Who are you going to kiss at midnight?”

“No contenders,” you say. “Unless I get lucky in the next 45 minutes, these plush lips are going tragically mack-free.” You make yourself a whiskey and soda and stir it with one of Jade’s retro airline swizzle sticks. “Jade, why didn’t things work out between us?”

“You were there,” she says wryly. “Don’t you remember?”

“Remind me.” The drink is smoky, sparkling, and strong.

“You dumped me, as I recall.”

“Dumbest thing I ever did.” You reach for the whiskey bottle and pour another inch in your cup.

“Something about wanting to ‘find yourself,’” she says. “Splash some more soda in that.”

You say, “If it doesn’t dissolve your eyelashes, it isn’t strong enough.” You give the swizzle stick another stir. “How about you, Jade, who’s on your kiss list?”

She considers the crowd. “They’re not exactly lining up for it. My dance card’s empty.”

“We could be each other’s midnight kiss,” you say. You try to make it sound like a joke, in case.

“You flatter me,” she says, deadpan. “Am I literally your backup plan?”

“No, of course not,” you say. “I mean. Unless you want. No use in both of us going to waste.”

She drops ice cubes into her cup with a pair of tongs. “Dave,” she says, “why aren’t you going after the one you really want?”

“Meaning?”

She looks up from her mixology. “Don’t you have a thing for Karkat?”

Fuck. Not this. “Jade, no.”

“What were you really looking for, back then, when you went to find yourself? ‘Cause I know it wasn’t me.”

“Just leave it.”

“I’m not mad,” she says. “I told you, I’m over it.”

“Jade, I don’t have a thing for him.”

She pours club soda over her cup of ice. “It’s okay if you do.”

“I’m not into him.”

She just looks at you. “Being bi is also a thing. You don’t have to give up the V just ‘cause you’re curious about the D.”

“Leave it,” you insist.

She pats you on the arm. “When you went to find yourself, I think you didn’t look hard enough.”

“Where the fuck is this coming from? I thought you were my friend.”

“Dave, it’s a new year,” she says. “Find someone who makes you happy.”

\--

Just before midnight, you wind down the music and whistle between your fingers to get the group’s attention. Jade shouts, “Three minutes! Who still needs champagne?” She passes around paper cups. Karkat and Roxy come in from the back porch. His hair is flying with static again. Roxy pushes it away from his face. He says something that makes her laugh, then he takes his knit cap out of his pocket and tugs it down over her bleached-blond hair. She tucks her hair behind her ears and makes a silly face at him. He looks smitten.

He looks gorgeous.

Mother _fuck._

“Thirty seconds!” says Jade. More people are filling the living room. You see Roxy slip her arm around Karkat’s waist. 

Somebody begins the countdown from 10. You cue up “Auld Lang Syne” and watch Karkat kiss your sister.

\--

When, a week later, the three of you drive back to campus, you take the wheel and Roxy and Karkat sit in the back seat. “We going to your dorm first, Karkat?” you ask, but receive no answer. You turn up your music.

\--

TG: hey  
TG: you still up  
CA: wwell if it isnt davve strider  
CA: long time no sea  
CA: to wwhat do i owwe the honor

\--

When you reach Eridan’s dorm room, the door is ajar. You shut it behind you. “Hey,” you say. He’s sitting on the bed in the near-dark, wearing a purple and gold brocade dressing gown, watching _Yuri!!! On Ice_ with the sound turned down. You toss a plastic baggie into his lap. He opens it, sniffs, and seems satisfied. 

“Crack that window open,” he says. “Ashtray’s on my desk.” He turns on a small table fan and aims it at the window. Reaching under the bed, he pulls out an inlaid wooden box containing a lighter, pipes, rolling papers, and incense. 

You take your first hit sitting on the side of his bed. Inhale, hold, accept, release. You pass the joint back to him. He lights a stick of incense and waves a trail of fragrant smoke toward his computer screen.

“So, is that a kiss or isn’t it?” he says after Victor lunges toward his protege and sends him sprawling on the ice. He rewinds the segment and plays it back.

“Who even knows,” you say. “It’s complicated.”

Eridan pauses the video. “Nothing complicated about it. There. Watch their mouths before the arm comes up. It’s a kiss. He’s in love. He’s waiting for Yuri to catch up.” 

You take the joint back. Inhale, hold, hold, hold... release. 

“So, shy guy,” he says. “Why’re you sitting way over there? Is my aftershave too strong or somethin’?” He takes a drag to match yours, exhaling through the corner of his mouth.

“I didn’t want to presume,” you answer.

“Then I will,” he says, untying the satin belt and shrugging the dressing gown off his shoulders. “It’s what you came for, isn’t it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> To be continued...
> 
> Comments, critiques, kudos welcome. Thanks so much for reading!


	5. Encounters

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sharing the chapter I've been tweaking on and off for months. Not sure I'll continue this, but wanted to share what I have.

It’s three in the morning. The moon is a deflating volleyball in the southeast, watching you walk heel-to-toe down the center stripe of Campus Road. You’re a little buzzed, a lot relaxed.

You’re time-jumping again. 

~~

It’s past midnight in Eridan’s room. The air is a cloying funk of pot smoke and the strawberry incense he buys at the new age bookstore in town. 

~~

It’s November of your first year at college, a couple of years ago. You’re studying, feet up on the little desk in your room, a single converted into a cramped freshman double, when you hear laughter and a key in the lock. Your roommate, Eridan Ampora, peers in.

“Davey. D-Stride. Pal. Could you,” he glances back toward the hallway, “could you maybe take yourself elsewhere for a couple of hours?”

Ugh, not again. “Give me a break, I’ve got a test tomorrow.”

He gives you a meaningful look. “C’mon, just this once.”

“This once, this week?”

Eridan steps into the room and shuts the door. “I’m beggin’ you,” he says, dropping his voice. “He’s a junior and on the rugby team and he’s so into me. Scout’s honor, I’d do the same for you. I mean,” he adds, “assuming you ever find someone who’d hit that.”

“Oh, fuck you, Ampora. Suck my dick.” 

“Whip it out,” he replies reflexively. 

Rolling your eyes, you push your chair out, shove your books and laptop into your messenger bag, and make for the door, bumping his shoulder as you press past him. You don’t bother acknowledging the sweet-faced guy waiting in the hallway. 

Later that night, you stop by the room, pausing to listen at the door. What you hear drives you straight to the couch in the common area, where you’ve spent a number of ill-timed and inconvenient nights for your roommate’s sake. You’ve gotten to know that couch pretty well.

~~

It’s a Thursday the following spring. You come home from the library worked up about finals.

“You need to chill,” says your roommate. That’s the first time you see the inlaid box come out from under the bed. Eridan shows you how to roll a joint, how to inhale, how not to choke on the smoke. Pleasantly stoned, you stay up half the night arguing the merits of philosophy, whether talking to plants will help them grow, whether pets have souls. 

“Dolphins have souls. I’ve communed with them.” His smile isn’t serious. He’s lying on his stomach on his bed, head propped up on his hand.

“Bullshit. No, you haven’t.” You take the joint and draw deep and slow. Your eyes are watering. 

“Yeah, I have. Dolphins told me the human race is on its way out. Show ‘em the door, it’s over. Nuke ‘em, put ‘em out of their misery.”

You cough your lungs clear. “You’re full of it. That’s not, that’s not a thing, dolphins aren’t going to nuke the whole human race.”

“Not all humans. Only the ones smarter than them,” he says. “Dipshits like you got nothing to fear.”

“Fuck you, suck my dick,” you say automatically.

“Whip it out,” he retorts.

Man. It’s such a genius idea, the best you’ve heard all night. “All right,” you say. His eyes grow huge as you stand and unbuckle and unzip. 

“No way,” says Eridan. He leaps to the door, checks the lock. “No fuckin’ way you’re going through with it.”

You cradle yourself in your palm. Your skin is tingling. You can’t believe you called his bluff. “Do it. I wanna know why you’re so popular.”

He shows you.

Eridan shows you how to sit at the edge of your bed, how to give him room to kneel between your legs, what to do with your hands.

~~

It’s two or three hours ago in Eridan’s single on west campus. He’s streaming Moroccan or Algerian rai through the laptop. A tenor pleads in glissandos and quarter-tones over a sexy, slow drumbeat.

Eridan’s hands trace a slow path over your sternum, past your navel, to where you’ve loosened your belt and pushed your jeans down. He presses his cheek against your briefs and you bite your lip.

“Get on with it,” you say.

“And you say I’m the desperate one,” he says. He’s nosing around, inhaling deeply. Kneeling before you on the floor. You sit down abruptly, lying back on his bed, eyes shut.

_If I don’t watch, it isn’t happening._

“Come on, man,” you say. Your dick twitches in anticipation.

He laughs quietly. His hands are on your legs. “Someone’s happy to be here,” he says. “Come out, wherever you are.” Eridan is so weird, talking to your dick. 

But you can put up with a little weird. Eridan doesn’t ask a lot of questions. He doesn’t cry afterward and ask if this means you’re together.

He tongues at the seam of your briefs. Tugs at the cloth with his teeth until your dick is released. You feel hot breath on your bare skin, and it warms and chills you at once. Then – finally – then he’s mouthing your shaft, drawing wet lines up to the head, taking you in. Taking you down, taking you in. 

You shudder. His hands are chilly where they graze your skin. 

_It’s New Year’s Eve. Karkat grips your hand warmly. Karkat grips your shaft -_ no, Eridan grips your shaft, Eridan eases his mouth down your length and back again, Eridan lets you thrust. Eridan is – _Karkat is_ – Eridan is sucking you off – is cupping your balls, stroking your thighs, your hips are bucking, _Karkat, fuck, Karkat –_

_you are gliding, wings cushioned on the current, timeless, directionless, spiraling_

 

~~

It’s one in the morning. Eridan taps your thigh a couple of times. He’s wiping his mouth on a bath towel, watching you with eyes so dark blue they’re almost violet. 

“Dude,” you say, catching your breath. He takes a swig from a bottle of water, passes it to you. You find your shirt to blot sweat off your face. “Dude, you want me to...”

“In a minute,” says Eridan. He climbs onto the bed, half-hard. His face in front of yours, his eyes seizing on yours. It’s too intense. Too intimate. It’s one in the morning. He’s on top of you, his swimmer’s body weighing on you, you can feel him breathing, you close your eyes so you don’t have to see how hungry he looks as he kisses you. 

~~

It’s one-thirty. Eridan moans, hands gripping your hair. You think unexpectedly of sashimi, the raw rosy flesh, its oceanic and salty sweetness on your tongue.

~~

It’s two. Eridan’s bed is too narrow. Your head is pounding and the room reeks. You turn up the fan and open the window wider despite the January air. You sling his robe around your shoulders.

In the bathroom down the hall, you splash your face a couple of times, then drink tap water from your cupped hands. 

_What if I just leave?_

You let yourself back into Eridan’s room as noiselessly as you can. Find your phone in your jeans pocket, use its light to dress by. Turn the fan off, shut the window. Make for the door. 

Eridan rolls over. “Stick around?” he says. 

“Can’t. Early class.”

Eridan pulls the rumpled blankets up to his chin. “The gay-la is this weekend,” he says.

“I heard about that.” You’ve got your sneakers in one hand, your messenger bag over your shoulder.

“You wouldn’t want to go together or anythin’?” He’s almost 21, but for a moment you remember him at 18. You hesitate too long, looking away. He shrugs, half-smiling. “Can’t blame me for trying.”

“Dude. Sorry, I’m just – I don’t know if it’s my scene, and...”

“Got it, chief.”

~~

It’s three in the morning. Your sneakers leave waffle prints in the snow. You spread your arms out and pretend you’re walking a tightrope, bobbling on the center line. You’re a child’s balsawood plane, looping circles on the road. You’re a figure skater, abruptly pirouetting into a snowbank as a car peels down the road. Snow fills your sneakers.

~~

It’s two-thirty. You wander the halls of Eridan’s dorm, looking at the names on the doors. You find the one you’re looking for. Study the bulletin board on Karkat’s door: band postcards, song lyrics, a flyer for theater club announcing spring auditions. You rearrange a couple of the postcards, re-pin the flyer upside down.

You try very hard not to listen to the voices on the other side of the door.

~~

It’s stupid o’clock when you get back to your dorm. You pass out on the couch in the common room.

\--------

Saturday morning, your phone buzzes incessantly with texts. 

TG: paaancakes...  
TG: davey paaaaaaaancaaaaaakes...  
TG: no sleepy-bye now  
TG: cmon its past 10 upsy-daisy  
TG: hey  
TG: he lives!  
TG: sorry ringer was off  
TG: theres pancakes?  
TG: not the cafeteria. were going to reds. cmon cmon  
TG: ok you driving?  
TG: yeh meet u in 20

 

Karkat’s already in the front passenger seat when Roxy pulls up in Zazzerpan. At Red’s Diner, he slides into a booth and Roxy joins him. You sit across from them and look over the syrup-sticky menu.

“What’s good here?” says Karkat. He hasn’t shaved, and his hair looks like an afterthought.

“Paaaaan-caaaaakes!” sings Roxy. “Pan-cakeys. _Panqueques._ Flapjacks. Griddle cakes. They’ve got strawberries, blueberries, pecans, chocolate chips, whipped cream, all that good shit.”

“Slow down, shortcake,” Karkat says. “You’ll make yourself sick.” 

Roxy sticks her tongue out at him. “Who you calling cake?”

“Their omelets are good,” you say. “They use real eggs. You can get wheat toast if that’s your jam.” 

“Davey, what are you getting?” Roxy says.

“You’re going to steal half of it, what sounds good to you?” you say. “Tall stack, blueberries, side of sausage?”

“Perfect!” she says. “He knows me so well,” she adds for Karkat’s benefit.

The diner feels too loud. Everything is clamoring and nothing is filtered: plates clattering, customers talking, the banter of the short-order cooks, the waitress asking what you’ll have, the bell jangling each time the door slaps open. Coffee and bacon odors beat competing paths to your brain. If it were just you and Roxy, you’d put in your earbuds and she’d understand. 

You’re sitting on ripped vinyl and the windows are scratched and foggy and Zazzerpan is cooling down outside, tires crossing the lines of its parking spot. In your head, you re-park it until it’s aligned, over and over. Clouds move in and you feel like bolting. Roxy and Karkat are sitting thigh to thigh and they’re laughing about something and you just, it’s too many sounds and too many words and you don’t want to see them this way and you wish it was you and you shouldn’t have agreed to come. You tap out restless paradiddles on the laminate tabletop, right-left-right-right, left-right-left-left, until Roxy covers your hand with hers and mouths, “Stop.” You’ve got problem sets and an essay due and you should figure out what you’re going to do for your foreign language requirement before your senior year. They told you Javascript doesn’t count, which you think is totally discriminatory.

The waitress returns with your food. Roxy immediately snags your top pancake with her fork. You spear a sausage link and take a bite that sprays hot fat across your tongue and has you grabbing the iced water pitcher. Karkat’s veggie omelet comes with a side of lean Canadian bacon. 

“If you’re still thinking about doing sound for the spring play,” he says, cutting his omelet with the side of his fork, “the next meeting is Tuesday at 4:30. I talked to my buddy on tech. You’d have to be available for a couple of rehearsals a week from now to the middle of April, plus the nights leading up to opening night, and all six shows after that.”

“We should all do it, it’ll be fun,” says Roxy. “I can be Townswoman #3. My background chatter is second to none. Check this out: Rhubarb, rhubarb, rhubarb.”

Karkat responds with a slow clap. “Nailed it,” he says. “But don’t sell yourself short. Why don’t you audition for an actual part? They’ll have scripts at the next meeting.”

“You think I could?” Roxy says.

“Never hurts to try,” he says. 

You take out your phone and set a reminder for Tuesday afternoon.

\--

TG: hey  
CA: ciao  
TG: so the gay-la  
TG: you still going?

\--

You hear the party before you reach it, deep bass notes rumbling in the stairwell to the basement of Blake Hall. When you open the door, a tidal wave of EDM nearly knocks you down.

The Anyone & Everyone Alliance has decorated the space with shiny kitsch: glow sticks, black light posters, lava lamps. Someone in a tuxedo jacket and utilikilt takes your $5, checks your I.D., and fastens a plastic bracelet to your wrist. If nothing else, you can now get a cup of almost-cold almost-beer to help you loosen up. 

You scan the flickering room. There’s Eridan in the comfy sofa, deep in conversation with a guy in a muscle shirt who keeps wiping his face with a handkerchief. A girl on a stepladder adjusts a mirror ball while the crowd on the dance floor cheers her on. People are pairing off and you make a conscious effort not to look.

You greet Eridan and he introduces you to the guy he’s talking to. He tells you his name, but it vanishes into the wall of sound. His palm’s as sweaty as the rest of him when you shake his hand. You don’t look too closely at the couples in the shadows. 

But then, suddenly, you do. Because there’s a guy across the room who you’re pretty sure is your pot dealer—which couldn’t be more convenient, you were running low—only he’s got his arm around another guy who—no, that can’t be right, it’s dark in here, the light is bad, why do you have your shades on anyway, you should take them off, so you do—that can’t be right. That looks like Karkat.

You lean across Sweaty Guy to talk to Eridan. “You know that guy with Gamz?”

Eridan looks. “Who, Karkat? Sure, I’ve run into him here and there. You like him? I’ll introduce you.”

“No need. We’ve met.” You watch Gamzee nuzzle Karkat’s cheek with his nose. Karkat scritches his hair. 

Your temper flares. What the hell?

Before you can process it, you’re out of your seat and walking over to them. You’re furious for Roxy’s sake. That’s what you tell yourself. 

"Hey hey," Gamzee says, reaching for you with the arm not currently wrapped around Karkat. “How righteous it is to see your fine self gracing this hoopla.” He offers you his fist to bump.

"Hey Gamz," you say curtly. "Karkat."

"Hey man," says Karkat, as if nothing is wrong. 

You say, "I saw Roxy a couple of hours ago. She was looking for you." It's a lie, but you hope it'll provoke a response.

"She's got my number, I'm not that hard to find," says Karkat carelessly. He takes Gamzee's beer and helps himself to a long swig.

"Maybe she didn't know where she should be looking," you warn. "Maybe you should have let her know." You look meaningfully from him to Gamzee.

"Let her know what? That I go places without her once in a while? She's aware."

"Yeah? Is she aware you're at the gay-la getting handsy with Gamzee?" you demand. Hearing this, Gamzee bursts into melodious, hiccuping laughter. You realize you sound ridiculous in more ways than one, but there’s no retracting it now. "I guess you don't care who you hurt."

"Who I - what? Wait, what does your unevolved brain think is going on? What kind of asshole do you take me for? Christ." He turns to Gamzee. "Gamzee, this is Dave, Roxy's brother. Dave, this is Gamzee. My foster brother. We've known each other since we were kids. He's my fucking _family."_

You can feel the embarrassment of your misunderstanding crawling up your neck and across your cheeks. "You've got funny boundaries for family, then," you say.

Gamzee takes back the beer. "This here motherfucker and his brother and dad saved my life. My _life._ Whither he goeth, there shall I goeth, you dig?" He pauses, fixing you with eyes made unnervingly spectral by a combination of black eyeliner and white paint. "Karbro's the best friend I ever did have the miracle of knowing." He drinks, wipes his mouth with his arm. "And anyway, I met his girl, and that's a fine and joyful thing he's got with her, and I approve. So maybe cleanse those shades and see reality, before you go and rescue what don't need rescuing.”

\--

Suddenly, getting some fresh air sounds like a really, really good idea. 

You show your wristband to the guy serving drinks and buy a Coke and a near-beer. In the men’s room, you dump the Coke into the sink, pouring the beer into the empty can. You huck the Solo cup toward the trash can. Nothing but net.

You realize you should probably tell Eridan you’re taking off. You look back toward the comfy sofa. The sweaty guy’s feet are in Eridan’s lap now, and Eridan is massaging his calves. Yeah, no. You make your way to the exit. He’ll figure it out.

The beer tastes both watery and vaguely sweet. You should have rinsed the can, maybe. 

Foster brother. Yeah. Of course. This is going to get back to Roxy, isn’t it. You feel like an utter tool.

You’d really like it – you mean, you don’t want to sound demanding or anything – but you’d like it if for once the person you were crushing on could actually be into you. If he weren’t, for instance, dating your sister. Also if you could not leap to conclusions and say dumb shit that makes you look like a total asshole. Yeah. That’d be cool. 

You drink and walk all the way to the far end of College Road and back. And down and back again. The moon drifts across the sky. An hour goes by, maybe more.

You wish you could just take your mind off everything. You don’t want to go back to your room just yet.

\--

You text Eridan and receive no answer. You decide to stop by anyway. West campus isn’t that far out of your way, or so you tell yourself. 

You’re spinning your keyring around your finger when you reach his door. You’re about to knock when you hear voices – laughter from Eridan, then someone else, more baritone. So he did bring the sweaty guy home. Good for him. You take the stairs down a flight.

This is Karkat’s floor. Maybe you should go talk to him. Apologize for earlier. That’s all. 

There’s his door. It’s pointless o’clock. Should you knock?

You unpin one of his postcards, flip it over, put it back. Look at the photos he’s put up in the past few days. There’s a strip of selfies from a photo booth. Him and Roxy. She’s wearing a sun hat and a series of progressively more ridiculous faces. He starts off stern, then cracks a smile. By the fourth photo, he’s laughing, eyes shut, teeth straight and white like a model’s. 

You wonder what it would feel like to have that brilliant smile aimed at you like your own private sun.

Swiping a pencil from someone else’s message board, you sketch a quick cartoon on the postcard – a stick figure holding out a drooping daisy. Flip it back to the picture side, pin it up again.

And then your heart stops, because Karkat’s voice on the other side of the door says, “Is someone there?”

You dart back into the stairwell, and the heavy fire door swings shut behind you. 

\--

Roxy strides up to your table in the dining hall at lunch on Monday. "Abraca fuck off," she says, holding something up to your face. It's your brass record-album charm, the one she gave you when you graduated from high school. It’s supposed to be on your keyring.

You take your keys out of your pocket. Huh, look at that, it must have fallen off. “Where’d you find it?” you say, reaching for the metal disk.

She holds it out of reach. "I'll give you one guess."

“Honest, I have no clue. There’s a city-wide shortage of clue. I’ve been standing in this clue line for the last six hours with an empty clue bowl, and all I can hear is the wailing of anguished peasants, cursing the drought that blighted this year’s crop of clue.” You shrug. “I’m fresh out.”

She makes an exasperated noise. "What was this doing outside Karkat's room?" she demands.

Shit. What, indeed? You remember fidgeting with your keyring, scribbling on the postcard on his door... shit. She can’t know you were there, she can’t. You stall. "Making friends with the carpet? How the hell should I know?"

She gives your shoulder a rough shove. “Don’t fucking spy on me.” 

Wait. Wait. She thinks you were there to check up on her. Okay. Let her believe that if she wants. Please let her believe that.

A couple of people stop to watch, lunch trays in hand. One of them makes as if to approach you, but you wave him away.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about, Rox. I wasn't spying on you.” You’re not even lying.

"Don't play dumb,” she says. "I don't need my family keeping tabs on my private life. Keep your damn distance, got that?" She slams the disk on the table and walks off. 

"Okay, good talk," you call after her. "Pancakes this weekend?" But she doesn't turn around.


End file.
